


Inked Petals

by angelheartbeat



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Florist AU, I'm falling into Klance hell, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, florist/tattoo artist, tattoo artist au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheartbeat/pseuds/angelheartbeat
Summary: A long-running tattoo parlour has recently come under new management; but a florist opens up right next door and somewhat cramps the style of the parlour, and a odd relationship strikes up between the owners of the two shops.





	Inked Petals

McClain's Inks has been run by the McClain's for as long as tattoo parlours have been a thing. Generation after generation has had the shop passed down to them, always having a McClain managing the store, even if the employees may be from anywhere.

The new owner of McClain's Inks was none other than Lance McClain, fresh out of art college and ready to tattoo some drunk teens and adults making poor choices. Having moved with his mama from Cuba for school and to take over the shop from his abuela, Lance wasn't about to let McClain's Inks slide.

Well, he had really been running it with his mama for the past few weeks, being taught everything she knew about running the business, stuff that she had learnt from her own mama, once upon a time. But he would have to be independent - hire his own employees, manage finances, and all in all it was quite a hefty burden for a young adult soon to be alone in a country that is not his own, separated from family, simply with his friends and his brain and his art skills.

"Mama, can you open up the shop?" Lance called, flicking through the books of tattoo designs to slip in his newest page, making the already thick book even thicker. In the front room, Rosa McClain, Lance's mother - set to head back to Cuba the very same day - flicked the sign on the door to open, before squinting and peering out of the shop door.

"Lance,  _chiquito,_ come look at this. Someone is moving into the empty shop next door!"

"What?"

"Look!"

Curiosity piqued, Lance jogged into the front room and peered out of the window, immediately spotting the moving van parked outside their shop and the several people transferring boxes from it to the empty lot beside them. Despite knowing the lot was going to be filled one of those days, Lance was still vaguely annoyed. McClain's Inks had been getting a good run for the past few days or so without some kind of competitor beside them. 

"Wonder what kinda shop it is,"Lance muttered, before sighing and shrugging. "Well, they can do their own thing." Unless that thing was going to threaten the business of McClain's Inks, because Lance wasn't planning to be the one McClain to let down the family business - even if the said family business was perhaps a rather atypical business to be passed down through the generations.

"Unless there's a cute _chica_ , eh?

"Mama!"

"I'm just pulling your leg! I'll get out of your hair, mhm?" Rosa said with a cheeky smirk, wandering into the back room and leaving Lance to watch the people take box after box into the empty lot. There seemed to be not very many - perhaps it was a single person moving in and buying the store, which piqued Lances curiosity about the type of person they could be to just up and buy a store. Or maybe he was misinterpreting, maybe they'd been planning it for years - he probably shouldn't judge. But damn if that was gonna stop him from doing so. 

After a few minutes, Rosa walked back out, hand on hip. Lance jolted from his position still at the window when she cleared her throat, raising an eyebrow when he turned around, blush rising. She had tied her hair up into a bun, and Lance could feel the teasing before it even began.

"Are you actually watching for a cute  _chica?"_ Rosa snorted with laughter and ruffled Lance's hair, who made a vague noise of annoyance and pushed her hand away playfully. They play-fought for a few seconds, batting at each others hands before mutually stopping and dropping their arms.

"I'm going to miss you, mama," Lance said suddenly, and Rosa's eyebrows drew together, immediately opening her arms for a hug, which Lance fell into gratefully. She squeezed him tight, forcing all the air out of his lungs, but he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her just as tight.

"I'm going to miss you too, Lance. But I know you'll keep this place running beautifully. You learned from the best, no?"

"I won't let you down, mama. McClain's Inks will continue to be the best tattoo parlour in the country - no, the world!"

"I know it will! You're Lancey Lance!"

"Mamaaa!"

Squeezing her arms around Lance, Rosa picked him up off the floor with alarming strength before frowning, putting him back down, releasing him from her grip and folding her arms. "You're much lighter than you used to be, _calaca_.Have you been eating properly?"

"Yes, mama," Lance said diligently, smiling softly. Rosa sighed.

"I'm just worried about you!  _Te quiero mucho."_

 _"Te quiero,_ mama."

Rosa planted a kiss on Lance's cheek before walking back into the back room to collect her things. She returned a few minutes later wheeling her suitcase behind her, bag on arm, wearing a soft smile. Lance felt a pang as he realised how different things would be without her, especially given how much he still relied on her - a mama's boy through and through. 

It took several minutes for her to actually leave, though, what with all the concerned questions, reassurances that Lance would call every few days, exchanges of love and the brief incident that Lance almost started crying. But eventually she left, entered her cab, waved wildly goodbye, and the car sped off, leaving Lance staring after it somewhat forlornly.

And that was that. Lance was alone, left to keep the McClain name up to scratch, with no one helping him. Except for his employees, whom he... actually hadn't hired yet.

He might be just a tad unprepared.

* * *

"So how'd you actually get up and running?"

It was the very same evening, and Lance had had a fairly slow day. The shop next door had yet to put up anything inside the actual store, so he was still clueless on the type of store, but he himself had had a slow day - only a few appointments had been booked, and he had had maybe a couple walk-ins, but perhaps that was good. He desperately needed to hire some employees unless he wanted to be overwhelmed running the store completely alone - finances, actual tattooing, everything. It would really help if he could hire someone to be his receptionist, at the least.

Regardless, he was sat at the bar at his best friends café, drinking his cares away through hot cocoa, made with an extra pump of caramel just how he liked it. Hunk was stood on the other side of the bar, leaning on it with his elbows, and drinking his own mug of cocoa. Both mugs were piled high with cream and marshmallows, thanks to the stockpile of food in Hunk's cafés kitchen - Lance often joked that Hunk was saving up for the apocalypse, and Hunk usually punched him gently in the arm and informed him that cafés need a lot of stored food, dumbass.

"I mean, Lance, you have a huge advantage. Your parlour has been established as like, this amazing tattoo place, not to mention you already have the shop and everything. You've got it way easier than I did." Hunk said thoughtfully, and Lance groaned, throwing his head dramatically down on the bar. It made an alarmingly loud thud. 

"That's the thing! I cant live up to my family! My abuela was amazing at the business, and before that every other McClain who ran it has been amazing. I'm just... not that good!" Lance sighed exaggeratedly, before sighing again, quieter and more tiredly this time, and Hunk silently reached for the can of whipped cream and squirted some more on Lance's cocoa. "Thanks, buddy."

"Anytime. Look, maybe focus on one thing at a time? Like, get a receptionist? Then you can focus more on actual tattooing and have someone to take appointments and stuff for you. Bonus points if they can tattoo as well."

"Well yeah, of course, Hunk. I'm not gonna hire someone who doesn't know how to use a tattoo gun."

"I dont know how tattoo parlours work! Heck, I barely know how cafés work, and I run one."

They shared a laugh at that, before Lance sighed, resting his head in his hand and stirring his cocoa rather depressedly. Hunk bit his lip. "Cmon, man, I hate seeing you like this. You're gonna be fine!"

"Yeah. You're probably right."

"You know I'd do anything for you, buddy. Say, why dont you hire Pidge? I think they know how to do piercings, for whatever reason, not gonna ask why, but isn't that something you do?"

Lance brightened up at that, stirring his cocoa more thoughtfully than depressedly. The change didnt go unnoticed by Hunk, who grinned at the cheerful change. "Hey, you're right! I think. I dunno, its hard to keep track of what Pidge can do."

"I can drink to that!" And indeed he did, downing most of his cocoa in one gulp, before putting a hand softly on Lances shoulder. "Its all gonna be fine, Lance. You've made it this far."

"Yeah, with my mama's help!" Lance exclaimed, before exhaling loudly, shoulders slumping. "Sorry. You're just trying to help. Thanks, Hunk."

"You've been thanking me a lot. We're best friends! It what I do, you big loser. Drink your cocoa."

"Yeah, yeah, alright."

They drank in silence for a few minutes before Hunk remembered something, taking a minute to eat a marshmallow before getting on with it. "So hey, what was up with that moving truck outside your shop?"

"How'd you see that?"

"I was passing by, answer the question."

"Why didnt you say hi? I'm offended, honestly."

"Answer the question, Lance, goddamn!"

"Someone bought the empty lot next to our store. I don't know what kind of store its gonna be, but its obnoxious. I liked having no one next to us."

"So you've already got a vendetta against the poor owner of this store? Damn."

"Yeah, pretty much. Bet its like a sports shop or something dumb like that."

"Oh, that would be fucking golden. Can you imagine? All the buff sports nuts crossing paths with the edgy goths getting skull tattoos."

"You know full well thats not everyone we cater to."

"Yeah, but do I care?" Hunk laughed and peered into his mug. "Empty. How much you got left?"

Lance peered into his own mug, and seeing only a tiny bit of cocoa left, downed it in one swig, before passing the now-empty mug to Hunk. "None, now."

"You want some more?"

Glancing at the clock on his phone, Lance sighed and frowned. He wanted to be up early the next morning, make sure everything ran smoothly, and god knew that when he and Hunk stayed together for extended periods of time it devolved into utter silliness and bouts of ridiculous, hysterical laughter on both of their parts - being roommates for the most part of college had revealed that to them quite thoroughly. They were forever being called out for being too loud, which was quite ironic considering the volume level of some of the parties that transpired in college - although to be fair, Lance did attend most of those. Hunk attended a few, but for the most part his anxiety held him back, so Lance just collected the best parts of the snack table and brought them back for his verdict. "I might just hit the hay. Thanks, uh, again. For everything."

"Hey, no worries. Its what besties are for, right?"

Lance chuckled, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. "Sure is, buddy. _Nos vemos!_ "

"See ya, Lance."

"What, no Samoan to my Spaniard today?"

Hunk sighed and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. " _Feiloai mulimuli ane._ Now go get some sleep. And don't forget to talk to Pidge!"

Lance laughed and waved lazily, one-handedly, walking backwards for a couple steps before spinning on his heel and heading out of Hunk's cafe. The place cast a gentle glow on the street, despite their closed sign in the window, but once Lance had left lights started to flick off and he was left with the harsh glare of the street lamps illuminating the roads and cars speeding past. A cop car sped past almost immediately, blaring its siren at full volume and flashing red and blue with intensity. 

The city was surprisingly peaceful at night, stars peeking through a thick-ish layer of cloud and pollution. Cars roared by quite a lot, but no more than Lance was used to from being in the city for several years at this point. There were few pedestrians - most were too scared to walk alone at night, and those that weren't knew how to defend themselves. Lance was a part of the latter category. Having grown up in what probably constituted as a massive family, he'd grown used to wrestling and fighting. He would take his chances against a potential mugger any day. Humming a song his mother always sang, Lance glanced around him as he walked, always cautious of the potential dangers. Big cities were unforgiving to anyone out late at night. Moreso women, but Lance had indeed had a couple of incidents of attempted mugging - usually unsuccessful, but once a mugger managed to steal $20, and was treated to a flurry of even more vulgar Spanish insults than the muggers usually were when they targeted Lance. It was usually a source of great joy to screech out unfiltered Spanish curses while punching away a balaclava-clad ruffian.

Eventually he came back upon his tattoo parlour, neon sign glowing gently blue across the empty-ish street, but there was a figure outside it - well, leant up against the wall that was technically connected to both his property and the empty-but-not-anymore lot next door. It immediately set Lance on edge, fingers curling into fists and toes curling inside his shoes. It always felt slightly intimidating seeing dark figures outside anywhere, let alone your own home.

Smoke curled upwards in thin, silvery tendrils towards the sky, from a glowing cigarette between the figures lips, and Lance felt his nose instinctively wrinkle. If this was the guy next door he immediately hated him even more. Fucking smokers. 

As he approached, the man didnt seem to notice, and Lance took the opportunity to give him a once-over. His face was mostly in shadows, only really visible in silhouette, but Lance could see the glowing red end of a cigarette held far too delicately, and the dress sense instantly recognisable as outdated emo - a style Lance saw all too often, working at a tattoo parlour. Black skinny jeans, what appeared to potentially be an MCR band tee, a fucking chain belt - who the hell did this guy think he was? Not to mention the fingerless gloves, cigarette, and fucking ungodly mullet. He looked like the exact kind of guy to own a business that stole all customers from right under Lance's nose, because who needs real tattoos when they can get sparkly fake ones from Hot Topic-esque stores that their mommies wont get mad about. Well, perhaps not all customers, there would always be those who wanted to suffer through the sensation of a needle jabbing ink into their flesh, but most teenagers with enough presence of mind to know what their parents would deem acceptable would - actually fuck, who was Lance kidding? Teenage rebellion takes its form most often in ink permanently on skin. Perhaps he would be alright after all.

Eventually, Lance had perhaps stood silently too long, the guy noticed his presence and stiffened, twirling the cigarette with the ease of a pencil. He seemed to be giving Lance the exact same once-over, before his face twisted into a disgusted grimace and he stubbed out his cigarette on the bricks he was leaning up against. His shoulders shifted slightly, dislodging the shirt, and it was then that Lance noticed what appeared to be a tattoo peeking out from his ridiculous band tee, and his face devolved into a full-out scowl. He couldn't tell what the tattoo was of, or even if it actually was a tattoo - the light was dark and for all he knew it could be an oddly-shaped birthmark.

The two of them had a brief stare-off, or at least Lance thought they were staring at each other - his eyes were squinted in the low light, while the stranger was still mainly in shadow - before Lance broke away and dug out his key from his pocket, narrowing his eyes at the man again. Scoffing ever so softly, barely loud enough for Lance to hear, the guy flipped Lance the bird before shoving his hands deep into his skinny jeans pockets and sauntering back inside the empty store, presumably to head upstairs and hopefully rethink his dress sense.

Lance scowled all the way upstairs. This guy seemed like a grade-A tool. Just his luck that his new neighbour was a fucking asshole. But really, what else was he expecting? It was just his luck.

He didnt stop scowling even as he stripped down and considered showering, before simply setting his alarm earlier than usual and pulling on his pyjamas. Then he started to stop scowling, because it was hurting his cheeks and he was yawning instead. 

Even as his exhaustion took over his irritation, the man lingered on his mind for longer than he had any right to, considering the low light had made it hard to even see him properly. McClain's Inks would never be able to survive with a competitor like that - especially not with Lance's management. This certainly wasn't giving him a confidence boost.

Unable to sleep, Lance considered what Hunk had said about hiring Pidge, and rolled over to grab his phone, wincing as the bright light hit his tired eyes. A few swipes and taps had him logged into his messaging app. Pidge's icon was lit up, signalling that they were online, but whether that meant they were actually online or they had fallen asleep and neglected to close the app, Lance wasn't sure.

lanceylance is online!  
lanceylance began messaging Owlisholt!  
lanceylance: hey  
lanceylance: you awake  
Owlisholt: i'm always awake, you know that.  
lanceylance: damn u right  
lanceylance: actually wait no wtf you sleep loads  
Owlisholt: not as much as you.  
lanceylance: fair point  
Owlisholt: actually, on that note, what the hell are you doing up?   
Owlisholt: first day on the job go shit?  
lanceylance: okay first of all its not my first day on the job  
lanceylance: just my first day on the job alone  
Owlisholt: technicalities.  
lanceylance: secondly fuck you im gonna do great  
Owlisholt: yeah yeah. why are you messaging me again?  
lanceylance: hunk might have said something about you knowing how to do piercings  
Owlisholt: yeah. i think i can see where this is going.  
lanceylance: first of all im offended i didnt know about this  
Owlisholt: there's a lot you dont know about me.  
lanceylance: yeah thats not creepy  
lanceylance: my point is could i maybe hire you  
Owlisholt: whats in it for me?  
lanceylance: uh  
lanceylance: a job???  
Owlisholt: yeah, i'm just messing with you.   
Owlisholt: i'll take the job.  
lanceylance: oh fuck thank you so much  
Owlisholt: its more of a favour than anything. i think i owe you.   
lanceylance: you think  
Owlisholt: not really sure, honestly.  
Owlisholt: but yeah. it sounds better than living solely off criminal activity.  
lanceylance: what  
Owlisholt: i'm a criminal, lance.  
lanceylance: explain  
Owlisholt: hacking.  
lanceylance: makes sense  
Owlisholt: now go to sleep.  
lanceylance: im your boss now though  
Owlisholt: and?  
lanceylance: damn u got me ill sleep  
Owlisholt: send me details of the job when you wake up.  
lanceylance: can do  
lanceylance: buenas noches  
Owlisholt: night, lance.  
lanceylance is offline!

And with that, Lance could relax at least a little bit, and indulge in his favourite hobby - a good nights sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very very sorry if I mess up any Spanish in this fic, first of all - I'm using google extensively (not just google translate I do have some integrity)
> 
> Secondly I hope you enjoy this fic and have done so far!


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